


Property

by CalamityCain



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Drug Use, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki is rendered mortal for his sins, and there is none to claim him, he ends up the property of Stark Industries. And Tony finds quite a few inventive ways to put his new plaything to use...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Playground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kytt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kytt/gifts), [LeeAbeille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeAbeille/gifts).



Collectively, the chains and the blindfold rob him of everything except his mouth. But it is not being used for the laying of silvered words or world-toppling lies. At this moment, he finds it a struggle enough not to choke on Stark’s shockingly thick length.

 

Tony pulls out with a grunt, and for three seconds the silence is filled with Loki’s frantic gasps for air. Then his throat is filled again. Tony’s hand is tangled in his hair – which has grown long and matted – forcing him back and forth along the saliva-slicked organ and reawakening the burning ache in his neck, taut from the strain of being spread-eagled for ease of use, or so it seemed.

 

Several times has he contemplated simply biting it off. But he is in exile; not just from his realm, but from all that made him invincible. That cancelled out the luxury of starting any battles on Earth, or bearing the wrath of a man robbed of his manhood but not his steel and sorcery.

 

He was right about humans after all. Low, vengeful animals incapable of sating their base needs. Barely two days into his fall from godhood, from Asgard, they were practically baying for his flesh. Especially the man in red armour. The bitter tang of metal that reminded him all too closely of Thor’s breastplate had been the last thing he tasted before the gauntleted hand came smashing down upon his suddenly mortal head.

 

And with hardly more than a few blinks from the authorities – with the right exchange of discreet paperwork, or perhaps lack thereof – Loki was now the property of Stark Industries. A fact he is reminded of via the engorged penis gagging him more effectively than the muzzle had, distorting a face that once shone with the marble lustre of millennia and now bore only the sheen of sweat and the glisten of human seed.

 

That filthy seed shoots down his throat in a hot stream. He is forced to swallow. He always is.

 

Tony removes his blindfold and lifts his head to look into his tired, glazed eyes. The Iron Man is alit with lust; his tawny face is all the more handsome for it. Loki wants to spit on it. Spit the taste of his own cock back at him.

 

Instead he is made to suffer one more indignity. Gripping his chin to hold his mouth open, Tony calls to the lean approaching figure.

 

“Hey Tasha. Our resident god is hungry for more. Fancy polishing your quim on the famous silver tongue?”

 

Romanoff – the one they call the Black Widow – makes a sound of distaste. But Loki can smell a whiff of want just below it; a tingle of curiosity, like the heat of a cat. She resists the impulse, however, and passes on by. “I was just getting a beer, Stark. Jesus.”

 

Loki can see the deadly undulation of her muscles as she saunters to the fridge for the intended beverage. He fantasizes tearing into her with the knives he no longer has.

 

A crack and fizzle fills the heavy air, and the scent of chilled lager. “ _Must_ you use the basement as your dungeon-porn playground?”

 

“Well, seeing as I paid for the damage after our prisoner here tried to turn it into a pile of dust…why yes, I think so.”

 

“I see. And how much did you pay to make said prisoner your personal pleasure machine?”

 

“Not enough to concern you, Agent.”

 

This makes Loki bristle, and against his better judgment he thrashes violently in the chains. A mighty rattle echoes through the dim interior. _Not enough,_ indeed! His body, his life, his very existence has been reduced to a paltry exchange of mortal currency. In the past two hours his every crevice had been subject to every intrusion Stark could think of that wasn’t excruciatingly painful. So much that he had almost let willingly suckled Stark’s cock as the least of his torments. The memory of tears, of breathless sobs he had spilled at last from the shock and the white-hot shame, was fresh – too fresh…

 

And now, as Agent Romanoff’s cat-like footsteps leave the room (but not before she cast a lingering gaze upon his nakedness), Tony strokes himself and spurts one last gush of semen into his mouth before he is allowed to close it. The fluid spills over onto Loki’s face and into his hair, marking him as a dog might mark its corner with piss.

 

“There. That wasn’t too bad, was it? Surely the bastards in Asgard would have devised more painful punishments. If your myths are anything to go by.” He leans close to Loki’s ear. “Maybe, I dunno, a whole battalion of Odin’s finest spraying their come on you while you’re tied up naked before the courts?” He chuckled. “I’m sorry. That sounds like bad porn but there you go.”

 

Despite the implausibility, Loki shudders at the image. And then he is simply shuddering, uncontrollable tremors running through him as the sweat cools on his abused body.

 

“Hey…shh, it’s alright. It’s OK.” Tony’s hands massage his shoulders and back in slow, soothing rhythms. “It’s OK. Calm down.” The hands slid down to push his legs apart. “As four of our earthly deities once said, all you need is love.”

 

Then the blindfold is wound around his mouth as a gag that he doesn’t have the strength to protest. And once again he is ridden to the rhythm of flesh slapping against flesh that will end in his inevitable muffled cries, when nightmare and loathing and lust tangle in a punishment beyond any those who cast him out could have imagined.

 

~


	2. The Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ficlet I never intended to write, as the chapter that I never intended to happen.  
> But destiny insisted.  
> So here we are...  
> I really got my kicks off this time and I hope you do yours. ;)

 

How pretty the strongest are, Tony muses, when whittled to our frailest. The once-god (and former king, if he recalls correctly) is at the moment reduced to flushed cheeks and trembling limbs and a slavering mouth struggling to wrap itself around an obscenely pink, shiny ball gag.

He strokes the hard bottom bent over his lap. Not very…substantial, not quite his usual preference, but not bad at all. It has a nice definition to it. Full of whipcord stubbornness.

Perfect for the games that will follow.

He spanks it again, eighteen times, nineteen. The paddle is new and hurts considerably. Try as he might not to, Loki can’t help but cry through the gag. Tony watches his toes curl reflexively at the rising levels of pain. The writhing commences as dignity is left by the wayside. Or perhaps it was left behind when saliva began to pool on the floor and hot tears spilt from eyes that were better used to ice and scorn.

The obedience collar had certainly been a good idea. It pumped tiny amounts of a relatively harmless drug into Loki’s nerves and made him pliant, but not totally placid. Incremental changes were best: like how his mouth opened a little more willingly to Tony’s cock even as his eyes showed flickers of resistance. How he reacted perfectly to every flick and non-verbal cue like a lover as much as a slave. Or how he dropped to his knees just a few seconds quicker, gaze toward the floor, submissive but not senseless.

When he’d brought out the ball gag and wrist straps, Loki had trembled just the slightest even as his jaw twitched with traces of old scorn. “On your knees,” his owner commanded. The collar did its job. There was no choice but to obey. Even when he protested and struggled at the largeness of the gag – “Open wide, you can take it; good boy, there’s a good boy,” Tony chanted into his ear – the jaws and lips worked to accommodate the object of his humiliation. Just as his wrists had remained steadfast in position till all the buckles were tightened.

He was almost relaxed, really, when his frame was draped over Tony’s lap and hardening cock. The peace that comes with falling into a submissive’s role (and Loki has always been natural sub inside, sensed Tony). That was before the paddle came down.

Twenty. Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-three.

Had he been at it with the trickster at full power, they’d be able to go up to fifty. But mortal flesh is much frailer, and Tony begins to feel sorry for his plaything. He discards his torture device and rubs the red backside in soothing circles.

“I think we’ve been punished nearly enough, haven’t we?”

Loki makes a small sound at the word ‘nearly’.

From the pocket of his boxers, Tony produces a black mahogany butt plug adorned with slivers of gold. A classy-looking thing; expensive too, from one of those ridiculously discreet online boutiques that looked nothing like ‘adult shops’ and more like an institute for distinguishing fine wines. _An instrument of quality designed to fit perfectly the curvature of the anal cavity. Guaranteed to elicit nothing less than the utmost pleasure…_ so on and so forth. Tony had half expected it to be delivered personally, by a thin-whiskered butler who looked like Alfred from the morning Batman cartoons.

Time to test if said instrument lived up to its claim. Lubricating the tip of the plug and Loki’s opening, he begins to slide it in. He feels the ring of muscle tense. “Relax, or you’ll make this hard on yourself.”

Adjusting the dosage on the collar helps. Slowly Loki softens and spreads his legs upon command. The plug slides in further and further, until only a small nub shaped like a miniature doorknob is left. The stifled sighs from the other end signals that he feels uncomfortably, yet satisfyingly, full.

Tony rises from the chair and arranges Loki in his place. The cushion dampens the pressure of the mahogany nub, but only partly. Loki shifts with a wince as he is made to feel the awkwardness of his position. Ruthlessly, strips of silk – surprisingly strong – fasten him to what will be his prison for the next twenty minutes or so.

His sweat smells sweet. Tony breathes him in, kisses the fine bones of his clavicle and neck and jaw line, tracing the lips now stretched to their maximum. How terribly that face will ache by the end of it. He should exchange the gag for something more merciful, at least. But the broken sounds coming from behind it are too delicious. Especially when Tony begins stroking his cock steadily, just enough to bring him close to climax, then withdrawing. Again and again and again. Ah, those _sounds…_ disjointed, half-swallowed sobs and husky sighs like the crackle of fire on dry logs, framed by the sweat-dampened face with its feverish flush.

Beautiful. Absolutely, heartbreakingly beautiful.

And the high-definition camera will capture it all. Tony adjusts the angle and makes sure it’s set on Record mode.

Then he leaves Loki to his predicament, relishing – with white-hot guilt (and a shot of heat to the loins) – the last muffled cry he hears as he swings the door shut and locks it.

 

~


	3. The Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if this chapter is not quite as 'action-packed' as the last one, but I promise I am working on the next part and it Will Be Kinky. To all of you who are actually following this shit -- thank you!

 

Clint Barton had seen things no man or woman should see during his colourful career as master assassin. This, he thinks, is going on the list.

The leanly muscled god sits with limbs bound so that his legs are spread and he is rendered immobile save for his head that lolls back and forth in obvious torment. Clint doesn’t try to hide the fact that his eyes keep being drawn to the red, leaking, angrily hard cock. And then to the unreasonably large bubblegum-pink ball gag that causes an undignified (yet strangely arousing) trail of saliva to leak from the stretched lips and pool in his collarbones and chest. The ordeals of the past hour plus the drug’s effects have made of Loki a very different creature from what Clint remembers. The unassailable alien super-being is flushed, helpless, desperate – possibly even terrified. His eyes grow noticeably wide when Clint approaches.

And the archer feels his pants tighten suddenly.

He touches one of the sculpted shoulders and elicits a soft utterance – a plea of some sort.

Loki raises his gaze to Clint’s, then drops it in the direction of his cock. Twice he does this. Hawkeye does not wear his moniker lightly; he spots and grasps the signal. He knows what Loki wants (needs) him to do.

“This,” he shakes his head and says, “is _so weird.”_

He wonders whether it’s sympathy or desire that makes him take the swollen organ in hand and milk it with steady strokes. The long moans pulled like a magician’s silk scarves from Loki’s throat are undeniably pleasing. Clint is reminded of several outstanding porno films he has had the fortune to stumble upon. And the captive god is really helping things along by rocking into his grip with tears of relief streaking his face.

It isn’t long before hot, gushing come spills over his hand. Loki falls forward, exhausted, spent.

“Such a mess,” he murmurs. “What d’you say you help me clean it up?”

He almost adds “boss” – an offhand address he sometimes used during that time when he was servant to the god and his machinations. The turning of the tables only heightens the current situation he finds himself in.

His trousers really _are_ starting to get uncomfortably tight.

Taking the liberty of unbuckling the strap around Loki’s head, he removes the gag, causing a gasp of relief. Loki’s sharp exhalations fill the quiet room, until Clint slips his fingers between the saliva-slicked lips.

“Go on,” he says. “Lick ‘em clean.”

Amazingly, Loki acquiesces. Clint struggles to hide his surprise until he notices the collar and its acid-green digital display. He recalls Tony mentioning this rather genius creation during the last Avengers get-together. How the regular small doses keep the former god on his knees, metaphorically and literally, with the shocking result that he allows himself to be fucked, dominated and humiliated any number of ways.

Clint wouldn’t be too surprised if Stark decided to march his pet down the corridor one fine Sunday morning, wearing a collar and leash and nothing else.

Then again, having his fingers lapped at with Loki’s deft cat-like tongue – what more with demure downcast eyes where he expected a fierce glare – probably means that few things in the world will shock him anymore.

His hand now clean, he picks up the discarded gag and is about to reinsert it when Loki cries out: “Don’t.”

The green eyes flash with a sort of self-loathing and teeth bite down on lips that are shamed by having to beg. When Clint smiles, a flash of the old Loki returns.

“Happy, aren’t you, to see a would-be ruler reduced to a captive?”

“Ah, come now, Loki. You were never a ruler for more than ten minutes. In fact – what was the phrase you were so fond of? Oh yes. _You were made to be ruled.”_

Loki hisses softly. “I may have been foolish at moments. Nonetheless, you humans have proven to be little more than base creatures raring to indulge in base desires at the slightest opportunity. Your Iron Man being a stellar example.” He pulls at his bindings. “Is this the sort of treatment you inflict on your fellow men and women as well?” A mirthless smile twists his face. “Would you tie your precious Agent Romanoff to a chair and subject her to similar degradations?”

Clint’s smile fades. “Watch your mouth, _boss._ Remember who you belong to now. Should I call in your new master and see what other ideas he can come up with besides that collar?”

Loki bares his teeth; his muscles spring up like a panther’s. Just then the door swings open.

“Hello, Hawkpants. Playing with my toys without permission, I see.”

“‘Scuse me, sir. Please may I play with Loki?”

Tony returns his cheek with a smirk. “You can have him for an hour, max. I need to top up his meds soon. And then I have a present or two for him.” The bag he lays on the nearby table clinks promisingly. Clint nods in its direction.

“Care for a show-and-tell, Stark?”

“Oh _behave._ Patience is a virtue, and all that.”

“No, Stark, do show us. I am only too eager to spread my legs for whatever else you itch to shove between it,” says Loki scathingly.

“Whoops. Did I say an hour? My mistake; I’m gonna have to top up his dosage like now.” From his pocket Tony produced a syringe-like device. “Can’t have him getting sassy you know. Although it _is_ rather entertaining sometimes…”

Loki starts thrashing anew, only to stop with a bit back cry as the butt plug digs in and reminds him of its presence. He grits his teeth.

“The day will come when you have to pay for everything you’ve done.”

_But not today,_ Tony thinks, humming as he takes hold of the collar and pumps in a fresh shot. The bright green digits flicker and change.

Five seconds pass; then ten, fifteen.

Loki slumps in the chair with a sigh. His eyes are downcast once more.

“Damn, Tony. He ain’t as fun that way.”

Tony smiles. “Oh, you’ll find he can be plenty fun. If you know how to play the right way.” He empties the contents of the bag onto the table top. “Here – I was going to put these on him myself, but hey; my treat.”

He saunters out of the room, but not before ensuring the camera is positioned and running. “Knock yourself out, bird boy. Give me some good footage.”

“I will, good sir.”

After his colleague is gone, Clint looks at the props he’s been given. He turns them over and studies them with growing delight. There are two long snaking chains linked to exquisitely made cuffs, an obscenely realistic dildo gag fashioned from leather and rubber, and what looked like an ornate metal cock ring.

He toys with the ring and looks at Loki with a glint in his eye.

Loki visibly _trembles._


	4. The Plaything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to each of you darlings for following this ridiculously pointless thing so far.
> 
> Sorry in advance for Hawkeye being an ass... in fact, sorry about Everyone Being An Ass For The Sake Of Porn.
> 
> Here's more of the same! Enjoy~

 

_“I weary of scuttling in the shadows.  
_

_I mean to rule this world, not burrow in it.  
_

_Tell me everything, Barton._

_What do you see?”_

 

Whispers, memories. Tickling his senses like phantoms. Clint ‘Hawkeye’ Barton savours the same velvet voice forming incoherent cries in place of eloquent commands as he teases the tip of Loki’s restrained organ – first with his fingers, then his tongue.

He has never laid either on another man’s cock before today. It is proving to be most educational.

He congratulates himself on having mastered the art of fastening a cock ring. The decorative serpent on the band of steel is quite the cherry on the cake. He’d briefly trained the camera on that particular detail, going into a closeup, knowing Tony would appreciate it. Clint had to hand it to the man: his good taste in women and interior design extended, it seems, to sex toys.

Loki sighs and shifts at the restraining device, as expected; but Clint thinks his writhing is either exaggerated or there’s something he’s not seeing.

“What’s all the fuss about, huh? Surely you’ve taken worse from Stark.”

The latter sighs; remains silent. Shifts once more with a quiver of his lips that made Clint hard all over again. Finally he replies, in deliciously modulated tones:

“If you would remove this infernal device from…from within me, I would much appreciate it.”

“What device…?” Clint scans the lean frame but finds nothing of any sort. Then it hits him, and he can’t help but smirk. A hand deftly slid under Loki’s pert buttocks reveals the answer.

The plug is shaped like a doorknob, nicely rounded and curving into the flesh while simultaneously making its presence uncomfortably known. He gives it a tentative tug. It stays firmly in place.

“If you untie me, it might be easier to remove.”

“Nice try, Mr Sly. You’ll have to do better.” He smacks the side of Loki’s left buttock – not very hard, but the plug makes the latter wince. At the same time the already aroused cock jumps to attention, its want of release denied by the serpentine ring. Clint runs a finger along its length and the trickster’s wincing melts into long aching sighs. The sighs evolve into jagged, wordless pleas, which then escalate into louder cries.

“Enough, Barton. There is no – _ahh!_ – pride to be had in – ” Here, another broken cry – “in tormenting a man who can’t fight back.”  
  
“A man, huh?” Another loud smack, this time on the right. Loki winces again. “I thought you were all about your golden godhood. But I guess daddy took _that_ plaything away.”

The no-longer god’s cheeks burned. But for the drug keeping him compliant, he would have spewed venom. Clint could see the barest hints of it in his eyes. Shards of malachite dulled only slightly by the effects of Stark’s collar.

Impulsively, he pushes his face forward and kisses Loki. The latter’s lips are awkward, half-open and now comically squished in surprise.

They also don’t kiss back. The Hawk isn’t too surprised. But he does have ideas about what to do with that exquisite mouth. Ideas that are nicely supplemented by Stark’s collection of toys.

He reaches for the device that is made to function like a ball-gag in all ways but one: in place of a sphere is a generously-proportioned leather penis, made to silence its wearer even more effectively. As he smoothes out the straps, Loki’s face burns even redder (highlighting his high cheekbones, which Clint finds rather beautiful).

Without mercy he pries open the set jaw and pushes in the head of the gag. There is some struggle, but not much. More evident is the struggle to breathe. Less than halfway through, Loki appears to have trouble inhaling.

“Really, Loki, I thought you’d be used to this by now. if the rumours I hear of Tony’s, uh, endowments are true…”

The incensed, muffled cry he gets in response stirs his loins all over again. If his hands weren’t full, he’d probably be rubbing out a quick one. But this was far too fun to stop.

He tilts Loki’s head back and eases in the leather protrusion. “Here, I’ll be gentler. I promise. Open wide, babe, you can do it.” Slowly the faux cock disappears further into the stretched gasping mouth.

“There; see how easy it is when you stop fighting?” Clint gently massages the nape of his neck to try and relax the tense muscles. “Man, I could really get the hang of this whole master-slave thing. _God_ I’m hard – got room for one more in there?” He snorted at his own joke (Tasha both loved and hated that snort, and called him ‘little piggy’ when he did that).

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Clint pinched a nipple, eliciting what sounded like a squeak. (It only made him snort again.) “Yeah, you love being filled from both ends. If there’s a spare dildo lying around I might fuck you slow and sweet – that plug is nothing compared to what you’ve had.”

Another exclamation – shorter and more stifled than ever. The glare that follows is half-hearted, but the Hawk won’t have that.

“Ooh, you difficult thing. What’ll it take to train you? Huh?” He glances at the camera, which has been silently committing each lurid second to memory. “Let’s have some action, then. You want a little space back there?” He pulls out the gag just an inch or so. “Suck on it.”

When the lips remain still, he slaps the flushed face. “I said, _suck._ Suck it like you would Stark’s fat cock.”

The collar does its job. Loki whimpers but obeys. There is nothing but the sound of his tongue and mouth working the length of the dildo; well, that and Clint stroking himself with his spare hand because he was _aching_ to come. Soon enough the whimpering turns into moans that almost seem driven by pleasure.

He pushes in the last inch rather unceremoniously. “There; done. Good boy." At the same time he climaxes with a soft groan, feeling his erection slowly fade and allowing itself to be tucked back in. His sticky fingers run themselves through the dark mop before him, tainting them with come. "So pretty like this...you like being made filthy, don't you? Bend over so I can finish dressing you up.” Quiet little toy, debauched first by his master then by his former servant in turn; whose head is now bowed obediently so Clint can fasten the buckle.

When Loki raises his head again, salty streaks adorn his face – involuntary tears from having pushed his gag reflex too far. No doubt his throat would be a little sore tomorrow. For now, Clint feels a warm satisfaction pool in his gut from the sight of the lean, flawless form before him spread out in such a manner. Bound and plugged and silenced, and decorated with a silver ring. The tiny serpent’s head seemed to wink at him.

 _Job well done,_ the former hitman thought to himself.

“ _Such fun it is, these reindeer games, when there’s a reindeer to be tamed,”_ he sang in a made-up tune as he left his handiwork on display, and the camera drank it all up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> _[ the list of kinks and tags will evolve with the story. stay tuned! ]_


End file.
